


here comes the rain again

by joshwrites



Series: the witchcraft in your lips has me spellbound [2]
Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Bisexuality, Canon Bisexual Character, Developing Relationship, F/F, Falling In Love, Family Issues, Feelings, Inner Dialogue, Internal Monologue, Joseph and Noah are Only Mentioned, Pre-Relationship, Self-Doubt, They Don't Actually Appear, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 01:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13514391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshwrites/pseuds/joshwrites
Summary: Just some Charity inner monologue, no other characters actually appear but are mentioned throughout.





	here comes the rain again

It was raining hard. A violent storm. Charity was half-expecting the power to go out at any given moment. The candles were already lit. In preparation And yet, she was standing there in the shadows as she stared blankly out the window. The rain was crashing down hard against the glass but Charity didn’t flinch once, just kept her gaze steady.  
  
  
  
Electrical storms always had such an odd effect on her— especially when she’s alone. She always feels so restless. Hungry. For something. For what, she was never sure. The sense of physical need— the craving for another person's touch––never helps, either. Chas would probably just say she’s horny. Charity wonders what Vanessa would say. But it's a subject she’s reluctant to bring up with her. She’s not good at confronting her feelings, she’s getting  _better_ at it but she’s still got a long way to go. Every time she wants to approach the subject she can feel the words get caught in her throat and she knows what it is. It’s fear.  
  
  
  
Fear of not being believed, fear of being vulnerable, fear of not being enough.  
  
  
  
This thing with Vanessa is scary. But she wouldn’t trade it for the world because that tiny blonde rocket woman is the first person to give her excitement, butterflies and hope in so many years. She wants to hold on to that and to her for as long as she can.  
  
  
  
When she thinks about it, rationally— it seems that what she wants to ask for is so little. Someone to share the night with, to share  **herself**  with. No. Not just someone. Her. Just her.  
  
  
  
Charity no longer feels the need to ask herself whether she’s obsessed. She has seen enough of obsession by now to know its shape and some of the many forms it can take. As obsessions go, hers is benign enough, she supposes— harmful to no one but herself, really. And she’s willing to take her chances.  
  
  
  
She almost picked up the phone a dozen times before she finally did and scrolled through her contacts until she stopped on ‘V.’ She took in a deep breath before letting it out slowly, counting to three in her head before pressing call. She felt stupid for her intense need to hear Vanessa’s voice but she did. She needed it. She can no longer count the number of times she’s had the urge to call her and say, not 'I need to talk,' but 'I need to hear your voice.’  
  
  
  
She wanted her to tell her about her day, tell her a story, tell her anything. It didn’t even matter if they’d only seen each other a few hours previously downstairs in the pub. She missed her voice. Her contact. Her whole aura.   
  
  
  
Charity had never given in to herself to do it but this need is implicit in so many of her calls to Vanessa. She wonders whether, if she did make such a call and ask her for this, Vanessa would understand the need and not question it or  **laugh**  at her and just automatically start describing her day even though she knew half of it already, or some problem she had at work or something funny Johnny had done that day. She wonders whether, if she did question it, would she be able to explain herself? How can she expect her to know her heart if she barely knows it herself?  
  
  
  
She feels mostly it’s a distraction. A distraction from Joseph. From his eagerness to get to know Noah, for his future plans because she just knows he’s got something devious planned. She just doesn’t know what yet and it makes her skin crawl and bile rise in her throat at the thought of him hurting anybody she cared about whether that was Noah or her or  **Vanessa.**  
  
  
  
She began to wonder when Vanessa had crept in there, like she was already part of the family. She daren't even mention her name around Joseph just in case it gave him any ideas. He didn’t know what he wanted but she knew his aim was to destroy her, to make her **hurt** and  **suffer.** And right now she couldn’t think of an easier way for him to do that than to harm her kids or V. The kids were the obvious choice but they were kids, she didn’t think even Joseph Tate was that heartless. Although she could never be too sure. So that just left–– Vanessa.  
  
  
  
But she knew it wasn’t just a distraction either. There was much more to it than that.  
  
  
  
It didn’t really have anything to do with the quality of her voice— not in itself. There was nothing remarkable about its pitch or timber, or in the rhythms in which she spoke. It doesn't necessarily have much to do with  **what**  she’s saying either. Not that what she said didn’t matter. It did. But it doesn't seem to matter whether they're talking about something serious or trivial. Whether she’s winding her up or offering up advice that she was so obviously not going to take. Whether they were talking about the weather or their kids. Her voice was her connection to Vanessa. It... anchored her. In a way that little else does. She is her point of reference, whether she knows it or not.  
  
  
  
And, when she feels lost— as she so often does these days— she feels the need to talk to Vanessa, to hear her voice. Whether that was a bit of banter back and forth in the pub or in soft whispers in the middle of the night, phone pressed firmly against her ear. She grounded her and somehow kept her from sinking— or floating away.   
  
  
  
All she knows is as she stands there staring out the window as the rain slammed down hard against it and watching the occasional electrical charges light the sky that she wished she was at Tug Ghyll, with Vanessa. Wrapped in her warmth. She wanted nothing more to be able to crawl into her arms and let her presence, and her touch, soothe away her restlessness.  
  
  
  
But she wonders if she even could. She was partly responsible for it, after all. She’s not even sure when or how it happened. It wasn't supposed to. Charity knew who she was, and she knew who Vanessa was. But the feelings Charity has developed for her have caused her to question everything she thought she knew about herself, about what she wanted. Who she wanted and the only answer that keeps coming back to her is Vanessa.  
  
  
  
If only Charity knew what to do about it. If she only knew what Vanessa wanted. How does she know whether it's the same for her? She doesn't know how to try and find out without risking what they already have. And she can't risk that. Whatever they have going on between them, she doesn’t want to lose it.   
  
  
  
Dealing with men seemed... well, not easier, really, but the signals always seemed  **clearer**  somehow. Now she finds herself in unfamiliar territory and she’s not sure where she should go, much less how she should get there. It’s not like she’s not been with women before but this was different. She actually  **cared**  about Vanessa. It wasn’t something that she was doing as a way to get back at someone else or just for a bit of fun because she was lonely. Okay, it might have started a bit like that. When they were both down the cellar intoxicated and close and they weren’t going to be getting out until morning anyway so what was the harm in a bit of fun with the gorgeous vet but then it happened again and again and it kept happening until she realised that something else was going on.  
  
  
  
She didn’t have any answers.  
  
  
  
The storm is quieter now. The sound of the rain against the window is soothing, and even the lightning seems harmless now. And she supposed she’s a little calmer now, as well.  
  
  
  
She can't help but wonder how Vanessa has spent the night, though.   
  
  
  
Did Johnny settle down okay or has he asked if he can sleep with his Mummy for the night because of the scary sky? Is she sleeping peacefully in bed or is she wide awake struggling with her thoughts like she was?  
  
  
  
It was late, and she should get some sleep. Vanessa probably has an early call time in the morning and doesn’t want to be woken up or hear from her at this time of night.  
  
  
  
‘Good night. I think I might love you. Whether or not I ever have the courage to tell you that I don’t know.’ She scrawled messily in her journal, trying not to dwell on the words she’d written or that she’d ever thought them before she shoved it into her bedside drawer and slammed it shut like if it was out of her sight that would mean she would stop thinking about it. With a groan she collapsed back on her bed, her back landing square in the middle and squeezed her eyes shut.   
  
  
  
She heaved out a heavy sigh and wondered if the thoughts swirling around her brain would ever let her rest. Probably not.   
  
  
  
It was going to be a long sleepless night. She could feel it.


End file.
